


These Hands

by jeck



Series: Those Eyes, Those Lips, These Hands [3]
Category: Adam Lambert - Fandom, American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeck/pseuds/jeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is <b><span class="u">Part 3</span></b> of a 3 part series of short stand-alone fics that are companion pieces with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Hands

  
Rough, calloused fingers strum the strings of the acoustic guitar making various sounds come forth while he creates melodies with just a touch. He may not have the best hands to look at with prominent veins that ride up his tattooed arm, fingertips rough to the touch and his fingernails often chipped no matter how much he retouches the dark polish.

But still, Tommy knows that his hands, _these hands_, they make music.

He smiles, puts the guitar down and letting it lean against the wall before slowly crawling back on the bed and over another body lazily laying down. His hair falls over his face, his lips curve into a smile, hands reaching out to touch with a slow leisurely caress and then it is a different kind of music he hears.

There is a sharp hitch of breath, a soft whimper, the rustling of the sheets while Tommy slides his fingers up the inside of a bare thigh and then there it is, that low moan he knew would surface. Tommy likes those sounds better than any music in the world.

He touches soft, warm skin, fingertips sliding down a bare arm, following the scattered freckles there and then he smiles while he tenderly watches the invisible trail his hands make. He remains quiet, deep brown eyes darkly lined flicking to meet the lightest of blue and he sees Adam smiling at him.

The road to get here doesn't happen quite as suddenly nor as smoothly as other people think it does. It's a gradual growth like a flower that blooms, opening up to catch the heat of spring. Rehearsals and performances push them together constantly that the easy camaraderie that clicks from the moment they meet grows slowly into a much more comfortable friendship. Yes, it has its share of being strained after that kiss. _That kiss_. But it is very short lived after Tommy finally decides to let Adam in.

The days pass into weeks, it only makes their relationship stronger, maybe even deeper, more intimate, even touching and sharing kisses. It just seems to eveolve on its own, little things happening during the moment and both of them letting it, not stopping it. It is, after all, the spirit of rock and roll -- the one passion that they share that remains a constant between them.

"I like that song you were playing," Adam whispers, his chest heaving, reaching out to brush the hair away from Tommy's eyes. The voice is soft, a little strained with Tommy's hands sliding over Adam's chest, finger catching at a nipple, brushing over the pebbled nub. He hears a soft gasp and Tommy smiles; this is the kind of music his hands loved to play.

"There are better songs," his eyes meet Adam's and amusement shines within their depths. He then dips his head down, kissing and licking where his fingers once were and the music that usually plays in his head is now drowned out by the music that his lips and his hands coax out of Adam. A better song indeed.

More touching, slow caresses over Adam's body and then Tommy is slicking himself, condom already rolled over his shaft, pushing on Adam's shoulder so that he can lie back and they are face to face. Tommy shifts one of Adam's legs up and then he is gently urging them apart before nudging the head of his cock against Adam's entrance. He is still slick, still open from earlier, and then Tommy is pushing in with one tight, delicious thrust.

Both of them groan, both of them make a different, more intimate sound that is all their own. Tommy then moves, thrusting in and then out, the tempo slow, leisurely and their voices merge; a chorus of sensual sounds that cut through the silence in the room. He doesn't need to look at where his fingers touch and trail over Adam's body. Much like his guitar, Tommy no longer needs to see where his hands are. What he needs is to hear the music that these hands make.

And Adam? He makes those sounds with each stroke of Tommy's cock inside him, each one of Tommy's touch with his hands caressing heated skin. It is the muted whimpers, the stuttered breaths, the unstifled moans, a cacophony that surrounds them both and it lingers in the air, echoing in the room.

"Sing for me," Tommy whispers right by Adam's ear and then he begins to move with a different, faster cadence. He pulls out of Adam and then sinks back in, wrapping a hand around Adam's shaft, stroking and pulling even more of that song from Adam's lips that Tommy so loves to hear.

The music starts to build, moving faster, soaring higher, everything amplified. The feel of Adam in his hand is hard and throbbing, and then he is making such glorious sounds that mingles with Tommy's own moans. Adam begins to chant Tommy's name, speaking low and sultry like an intimate song that no one is supposed to hear. It pushes Tommy's own climax to the fore, his body trembling, his back tense, his hands more demanding.

The way they move turns erratic and devastating. Pressure builds, the sounds they make are louder and needy until Adam comes with Tommy stroking him in a rhythm that only the two of them own. They both come, a crescendo of sounds and voices and moans and no longer is it a song unsung.

He collapses over Adam, still deep inside him, both of them gasping, struggling for breath. Adam smiles at him, a beauty radiating from within that spills out, overwhelming, that Tommy cannot look away. They kiss then, Tommy still moving his hands over Adam, still able to pull the most intimate, beautiful sounds from him no matter how spent they already are.

Later, when it is deeper into the night with the room is in darkness and the music is no longer playing, Adam is silent, asleep while Tommy lays awake and watches him. Then his hands, his eyes, his lips, they continue to move, to touch, to feel. Each caress over freckled skin is slow, feather light as his fingers move over Adam's sleep-warm body. He is intently listening to each small sound that comes from Adam and it is music to his ears.

Now, whenever Tommy holds his guitar and starts to play, he smiles a soft smile as he looks at his hands. Because these hands -- they make music, but the only music that they really love to make, the only one that matters to Tommy, is the one most intimate, perfect song that Adam sings.  



End file.
